


How They Follow Their Destiny

by dogspeed



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ed is like the opposite of link, Edward is Link, F/M, I'll add more characters as I go, Izumi is Impa, She's still a mechanic, Takes place in hyrule, Two blonde idiots, Winry and Zelda are basically the same, Winry is Zelda, Winry/Zelda is touch-starved, Zelda is a badass, but with characters from fullmetal alchemist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:02:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26455324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogspeed/pseuds/dogspeed
Summary: When Impa brings Zelda a boy on the edge of death, she doesn't realize why he's so important until after he runs away- with two of her best works of automail, no less. Then he has the audacity to show up two years later, the Hero of Hyrule, and none the wiser of who gifted him his two new limbs. He's everything Zelda hates- loud, uncouth, ungrateful, and gifted. And now, her personal guard.
Relationships: Edward Elric/Winry Rockbell, Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

Impa couldn’t have come at a better time. She was in the middle of being layed into by her father for neglecting her duties as princess, savior, and reincarnated goddess of the kingdom. Interestingly enough, these duties consisted solely of praying or devotion to the goddess. Anything else was considered a waste of time.

Including, no doubt, what Impa was about to ask of her. But the expression on Impa’s face, usually caste in a stony countenance, was cracked with worry and panic. Zelda could count on her right hand the number of time Impa had deigned a lowly being with an expression besides don’t-fuck-with-me, and Zelda certainly had never seen Impa _panic_.

It did no favors for the nervous roiling in her gut.

Despite that, her father was determined to be difficult. She had to bribe him with a whole day of devotion and a continuation of the current argument (so much for the save, Impa) to let her go, and only after Impa made it clear that she would beg the king for Zelda’s help if it came to it.

It made her beyond furious. _No one_ should have to beg the princess to help save her kingdom, least of all Impa.

Zelda carefully boxed that rage in the back of her mind as Impa led her to the castle infirmary. It would do her no favors now, especially if she was correct in what Impa was asking her for- if Impa could have asked anyone else for help, she would have. The fact that she came here to Zelda meant that Impa needed her skillset, and it had nothing to do with any powers of the goddess (much to her father’s chagrin, but what wasn’t these days?).

“The doctors are stabilizing him,” Impa says. Ah, _there_ was the utter lack of emotion. “But that still means we need to work quickly.”

“Impa,” Zelda has to quicken her pace to keep with Impa’s ungodly long legs. “Impa, what is going _on?”_

“Zelda.” Zelda, not princess. “You’ve been working with the guardians for a long time now. Deconstructing, reconstructing, and you’ve been a mechanic ever since you could grasp a tool in your hand.” Impa stopped suddenly in front of the infirmary door and turned sharply to face Zelda, who was trying very hard to look like the brisk walk hadn’t winded her. “And I know you’ve been studying medicine. Anatomy. _Hylian_ anatomy.”

“Yes,” Zelda said cautiously. It was one of the few things her father didn’t outright check off as a _waste of time_. She convinced him studying medicine could help her discover Hylia’s healing powers, but she also didn’t mention that it included studying anatomy of the races of Hyrule would help her determine where the goblins that plagued the lands originated from. “But I don’t understand. Any of the doctors in this castle are both more experienced and more knowledgeable than I am.”

The side of Impa’s lip quirked. “They _are_ more experienced, but the rest I doubt. But that’s not what I want you for. How confident are you in building an arm?”

“I, ah- wait what? Like automail?”

“Yes. And a leg. An arm and a leg.”

“An arm and a- for _what?_ ”

Impa seemed to consider her for a moment. Gangly, barely nineteen, a little sweaty, and not a drop of the goddess’s power to boot. She couldn’t exactly blame Impa for reconsidering.

“I better show you.” Impa turned and pushed open the doors to the infirmary.

It was quiet, not unusual for so late in the evening, but there was a bustle and stirring over one of the cots at the far end of the hall. Four doctors were hovering over a patient in a cot, and another two assistants were rolling and cutting and washing linens. Who was important enough to warrant late nights for half of the castle’s healing staff? As Zelda approached and Impa fell in behind her, she could see the bowls for water were crimson, and low moans of pain from the cot. One of the assistants happened to glance her way as she approached and gasped.

“The princess!” He tried to bow with a bowl of water but instead spilled it across the floor.

“Idiot!” She hissed. “If the patient dies, you’re not going to get a promotion for bowing! Go!” She snapped, when the assistant’s face paled. “Are you incompetent? Get fresh water!”

“Princess,” Impa murmured as the assistant mumbled a breathless apology and scrambled off. “That was a bit harsh.”

“It was efficient, and he learned his lesson,” Zelda answered grimly. “Doctor Fiji, what is going on, since its apparently Impa can’t lessen the dramatics long enough to tell me.”

Doctor Fiji looked up just long enough for Zelda to see the exhaustion sagging under her eyes. She gestured for the doctors standing across from her, on the other side of the cot, to make room for Zelda to see.

Hylia, there was so much blood. It soaked every inch of the linens, and Zelda could see the piles of soiled fabric that were too saturated to soak up any more blood. On the cot… well, they were Hylian, no doubt. Too small to be anything else. But their right arm, their left leg… just stumps that ended in a blood soaked mess of sheets and bandages.

“Impa.” She used her Princess voice, the one carefully cultivated by her father before it became clear her gifts weren’t going to show. “Tell me what happened.”

She shook her head. “We don’t know. I intend to ask him myself after he wakes up.” She shifted her gaze from the mutilated form on the cot to Zelda. “But that is not what is important right now. He needs an arm. And a leg.”

“He…” Zelda studied where the muscles where they appeared to be straining though he was apparently unconscious. He let out a low groan and shifted slightly. He was panting, sweat sticking and mingling with the dried blood on his face, just as strained as the rest of him. “The guardians. Anatomy. My research. Automail…You want me to make him an arm and a leg out of guardian parts?”

Impa stared at her, as if that was an answer.

“That’s crazy! Guardians have a completely different makeup than a Hylian! All existing automail designs I’ve studied are made out of steel and wires! As far as I know, guardians don’t _use_ wires- they use alchemy to move! How am I supposed to connect it to his neural network? None of the scrolls detail how the ancient Hylians made those things- I’ll have to make the alchemic circles entirely from scratch! There’s been no studies of how guardian materials interact with the human body, and the procedure will be at the very least the most painful experience he will ever feel in his life-“ Zelda took a deep breath and met Impa’s gaze. What did she want out of this? Who _was_ this boy?

“So can you do it?”

Zelda searched Impa’s face with a bewildered look. What was she _doing_?

“Yes. Yes, I can do it.” She straightened her back, tried to smooth back her hair into a braid. This night, and the consecutive ones, would be long. She paused. “My father-“

“I will take care of it.”

Her lips tightened. “I need a week. At least.”

“I’ll get you two.”

Zelda nodded, but her mind was already racing ahead- what books she would need, which equations would work into the alchemy. To no one in particular, “someone prepare my workshop. Get a couple of assistants in there too.”

Impa answered. “It’s done.”

“Doctor Fiji.”

The harried doctor looked up from her patient. “Yes?”

“He’s going to need a lot of sedatives.”

The doctor determined that the patient was stable enough for Zelda to take measurements, so she was only gone for the time it took to run to her workshop for tools and paper to take notes. She snapped at anyone who crossed her line of sight for paper, ink, a towel, hold this, wipe off the blood here, Hylia, make him stop _moving_ , he’s dripping all over my notes!

After carefully recording every possible dimension of his body (no not _that_ dimension!) Zelda hurried back to her workshop to start only to realize her desk was a complete and utter disaster. Two Sheikah stood stoically in the corner, hands clasped behind their back.

“Impa sent you?” She asked.

They bowed, right hand fisted at their heart. “We are to assist you with all that you need, Princess.”

Zelda looked at the desk, and then back at the Sheikah. Why them, and not another palace servant? If she directed her mind to it, she could probably come up with an answer, but in the scheme of things it wasn’t important enough. “Great,” she said, and wiped all of the papers off her desk in a single sweep of her hand. “Clean those up.”

She deposited her new notes on the desk and took out a large piece of parchment, pursed her lips, and then brought out a bunch of smaller sheets, and started sketching ideas on those. She _had_ designed prosthetics on her own, but mostly she tweaked existing designs- for extra mobility, lighter materials, stronger joints, but certainly nothing that used guardian parts- or _alchemy_. Really, the hardest part would be creating that circle: something precise and complex enough to move an arm, that responded to a living breathing Hylian… and nothing coming off the top of her head would do the trick. Frustrated, she swept the designs off the desk and barked at one of the Sheikah to bring her any books on anatomy or medical alchemy they could find.

It was early morning when she finally had a design for the arm she was satisfied with. It was crude, yes, but it would do, and she could make adjustments later on. But when she showed the designs to Impa, her only response was “Zelda. He needs to be able to wield a sword.”

“What?” She squawked. Her designs _was_ hand-like, it had two fingers and a thumb. It could certainly _hold_ a sword, but as for actually being able to use it…

“Fine,” she snapped. “Any _other_ requirements?”

“He needs to be combat ready. Make them sturdy, so they can take a hit. Light and mobile. And the leg is less important. He’s not going to wake up unless he has an arm.”

Zelda was reeling. As far as she knew, this was something that was never even _made_ before, and Impa insisted on all this?

“I can’t do all of this in a week.”

“That’s why I got you two.”

“No, Impa. A month. If you don’t want something that is complete junk.”

Impa’s eyebrows screwed downwards. “He might not have a month.

Zelda shook her head. “Impa. How important is this? Why do you care about this boy so much- and why is it so important that I make his arm so well? Does this really supercede my duties for a whole month?”

“Yes.” Impa seemed so sure of herself. “How do you think the King agreed to all this? Consider it a top priority.”

“Above receiving my powers from the goddess?” She challenged.

“Yes.”

So whatever this was, had somehow become more important than the King’s consistent nagging for her to realize her powers. Which couldn’t be anything good. “Is there anything else I should know, Impa?”

“Yes. But not now. Once all of this,” she waved her hand over my designs. “Is over.”

Zelda didn’t argue any longer, and she didn’t waste time. She went back to the workshop and threw herself into her work.

Zelda went back to the boy twice that night for measurements. The first time, he was in a fever dream, muttering to himself, squirming in his bed. “Al,” he said, over and over. “Al, no don’t- not him, you don’t get him.” The second time, he was still dreaming, but when she put her hand on his forearm to measure his wrist, he grabbed her and opened his eyes.

“Hylia?” He said. And then passed out.

Zelda called for a doctor, but he was back in his fever dream, calling out to Al. They had sewed his leg up, but his arm was still a mess of bandages, leaking blood all over the floor. There was even a bowl that caught the steady drip of blood.

Doctor Fiji explained that nothing they could do would seal the wound on his shoulder. Before he was brought here, they tried cauterizing it, but all he did was scream and scream and nothing burned. When they sewed up the wound the arm swelled- and then _ripped out the stitches_.

“Goddess,” Zelda rasped. “How did this _happen?”_

Doctor Fiji hadn’t the faintest idea. “Impa brought him to me like this. Carried him right into the infirmary. Didn’t say where she found him or how she knew him, or why she brought him here. Well, it became apparent why when I realized nothing I could do could stop the bleeding.”

So that’s why he needed an arm. If whatever strange thing wouldn’t close the wound, then they would just have to rebuild a replacement.

“How is he not dead? With the amount of blood he’s lost…”

Doctor Fiji shook her head. “You don’t know half of it, your majesty. I don’t know how long he’s been injured, but since he’s been here he’s lost nearly half of his weight in blood. But he just keeps _bleeding_.” They both looked down at the patient, writhing on the cot. “As of now, his temperature is just above normal. Feverish. Which doesn’t make sense for an amputation- he should be getting colder.”

Zelda asked the question. “Is he dying, Doctor?”

The Doctor chuckled mirthlessly. “By all accounts, he should be, but… no. I don’t think he is.”

Zelda exhaled. “Good. I’m designing an arm for him out of guardian parts, per Impa’s request. It will be my first priority. If anything changes- if it appears that he’s actually dying, we move directly to surgery. Use your best judgement.”

The Doctor blanched. “You’re making- like those guardian arms?”

“I was hoping it to function somewhat similar to a Hylians’ anatomy.”

“But his body has rejected all other attempts at healing- and other types of automail. Why do you believe this will work?”

That was new. Someone had already tried automail- no doubt someone who was actually a professional mechanic, and they failed? Why did Impa think Zelda would be able to do it? Or maybe she was placing the trust in guardian parts; Zelda _was_ sort of the expert in those.

“I don’t know. But Impa seems to think it will. She’s sure enough that she’s putting a great deal of resources into it. Or at least a great deal of my time,” she added under her breath, gathering up her notes and turning to leave for the infirmary. “I’ll send some of my designs later for you to look over, as an idea of what we’ll be dealing with You will be helping me with the surgery. Study what you can of the Hylian nervous system.”

It was a little over a week before Zelda was done with the prototype for the shoulder. Doctor Fiji reported no changes with the patient- “just, so much _blood_ ,”- so Zelda put in extra time for the objectively most important piece of his prosthetic. It was where all of his nerves would connect with the rest of the arm- She had to consider how the shoulder rotated, the bend in the elbow, not to mention the nightmare of nerves that was the _hand_. Each joint had an alchemic circle that half of the castle alchemists were consulting on (machines were her specialty, and she only started getting into alchemy when she realized guardians used it to operate). Impa wasn’t satisfied with attaching the arm a piece at a time, spacing out the surgeries so she could work and refine each piece before all of it was slapped on a living breathing Hylian, instead of it all going wrong at once. Impa apparently had more faith in Zelda’s abilities, because she insisted that it would be all at once or nothing. There was no change yet, but it didn’t matter how fast your body seemed to be able to regenerate blood, there was still only so much you _could_ lose.

Zelda even impressed herself by finishing it in just three weeks. When it was all said in done, it was some of her best work: she used a strong and light alloy from the skywatchers for the covering but sturdier stuff for the joints; the plating was made out of the strange external material of the Scouters so it wouldn’t rust; the joints were designed to pop out of the socket instead of snap, which greatly pleased Impa; and it was strong as any guardian; could lift two men, a cow, and then some (Impa was also pleased by this, but Zelda was suspicious why the boy need to be so strong).

The leg was certainly less complicated. It didn’t have gnarly joints like the hand, and Impa was much less picky about it- “just needs mobility, princess.” When it was all said and done, Zelda thought that they could attach the two at once. He wouldn’t have to go through the pain twice.

Hylia must have sensed her completion, because it wasn’t a minute after the leg was finished that the doctor came rushing in.

“Your majesty-“

She stood from the work table. And here she thought she was at least going to get a nap between the surgery and now. “What’s happened.”

“He’s gone pale- and his temperature’s dropping.”

“How new is this development?”

“Only within five minutes or so. I didn’t want to take the chance and wait to see if he would recover.”

“No, doctor. You did well; Hylia has impeccable timing. The leg is finished. Help me carry it to the infirmary. We start- and finish- this now.”

In the end, the sedatives didn’t help much.

It was all Zelda could do to not flinch and keep her hand steady. When she connected the first nerve, his eyes snapped open and he let out a blood curdling scream, before his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he fainted.

Zelda wanted to wipe the drop of sweat she could feel trickling down her neck, but her hands were drenched with blood. “Doctor Fiji, start on the leg.” She welded another nerve into place. He groaned, but didn’t wake.

Nerve after nerve- Zelda could feel the all-nighters catching up to her, and feel each minute as it ticked by, hour after hour.

“Princess- your majesty. We’ve been working for four hours. We need a break.” The doctor’s voice swam somewhere on the edge of her consciousness, background noise to her unrelenting focus.

“Doctor Fiji. If you need a break, someone can switch out with you. I’m nearly done.”

“You shouldn’t be so careless with your own health, Princess.” When did Impa get here?

“I’m nearly _done_. His nerve endings are all attached, and there, I put on his shoulder plate, and we just need to attach the arm- wait, what’s happening?”

Where the skin met the shoulder plate it was swelling. The skin around the arm was turning blue, as if it were killing off the tissue there.

“Oh Hylia, please!” What should she do? Should she cut it off from the nervous system? “His body, it’s rejecting the arm! All this work, _for nothing-_ “

“Zelda!” Impa was suddenly behind her. “Zelda, you need to attach the arm, _now_.”

His head suddenly jerked up, and his other arm wrenched at the bindings. “Get it off! Get it off!” He screamed.

“Impa, it’s rejecting the prosthetic! The arm will only make it worse.”

“Zelda, do you trust me?”

“That doesn’t matter! His body is rejecting it!” His shoulder had swelled up to the size of his head- it was anatomically impossible for there to be that much blood in one place, all pinched together by the shoulder plating.

“Zelda, _do you trust me?!”_

At once she paused, and reevaluated. Impa knew something she didn’t. She wouldn’t be this insistent unless she was sure this would work.

Zelda looked at where the flesh swelled around the plate, and her father would be proud of the prayer she sent to the goddess.

“I need everyone’s help. Hold him _still_.”

She already had everything lined up, arranged neatly on the tray. Impa used both of her hands to press down his chest, and even seemed to be putting in a bit of effort for it (who was this boy?). With one knee on the table, one hand braced just beside his head, she held the plated bicep to his shoulder and counted down from three, and then snapped it into the socket.

She tried to tune out the high-pitched howl that ripped from his throat, and went for the forearm. Another countdown, another snap, and another scream.

The shoulder wasn’t getting any better. In fact, it was far worse now, she could see the veins throbbing near his chest, and now that the nerves were connected, the arm was thrashing around and Impa had to push it down so Zelda could hold the hand and snap it in place-

He let out a last scream, arching his back off the cot, and Zelda thought he was going to faint, or at least stop _screaming_ , but he didn’t. He just kept thrashing, and though his shoulder stopped swelling, his arm was still shaking and glowing which, it shouldn’t be glowing with that white, hot light, there was nothing in the arm but guardian parts that glowed orange and blue, not white- and the light was traveling down his arm, to his hand, which he somehow managed to rip out of Impa’s grasp and clutched before him in a fist, where the light coalesced into one glowing symbol, and triangle with three pieces, the _Triforce-_

“Oh Hylia,” she croaked. “Impa, does this mean-“

“Yes,” she said quietly, and Zelda could just make it out over the heavy gasping of the boy. “I suspected the moment I found him. But there was no arm for it to manifest on, so the result was this sort of limbo- his body trying to die, but his destiny requiring him to stay alive. Whatever happened next, the symbol had to be there.”

Which is why they couldn’t simply close the wound. Zelda looked at her own bare hand.

“Ganon is coming?” Impa knew that it wasn’t truly a question, not really. “But- I’m not _ready-_ “

“You will be.”

Zelda hated those kind of arguments. As if it weren’t a possibility that her powers might not manifest. And yet- what if it _didn’t_? Perhaps she would never find her powers, and they would have to be prepared for that possibility. Her father’s solution was to ensure that was the _only_ possibility, so she prayed until her knees were bruised. But Zelda’s solution lied in the guardians. They fended off Ganon before. They could do it again.

But still, her powers…

Zelda slumped to the ground. She was exhausted. Sleepless with worry over this objectively important boy, which she now knew the reason for. And the reason would add to more sleepless nights.

“Does my father know?”

“Yes.”

Zelda is exhausted.

Impa quietly called for a chair and Zelda was vaguely aware of being settled into it, and a blanket draped over her shoulders. All she could do was stare at the boy, as her mind raced with every single anxiety that was squeezed in over the past month.

This was the first time she could examine the details of his face. It was no longer scrunched in pain or some phantom nightmare, but utterly relaxed under the influence of the narcotics. His hair- rather long, golden, fanned around his face. He looked like a princess. And she, with her dark circles, mussed hair, and stains of blood, no doubt like a grizzled warrior.

Zelda let out a soft sigh, which under other circumstances might have been a chuckle, and closed her eyes. Just for a minute, and then she would get up, and attend to the endless number of things she had to do, which had piled up over the last month. She would count to thirty, and then do all that. One, two, three…

Edward woke with Al’s name on his lips.

He was awake, but his limbs were as heavy as earth. He was struggling to move, and panicking when his limbs wouldn’t respond, and he called out to Al for help, terrified-

And snapped up from where he lay.

He panted and clenched the sheets between his palm, as if they were the tether to his lifeline. And then blinked, and considered.

Sheets? Where was he last? What happened? Edward tried to calm his breathing as he cast his eyes about the room- it was dark, lit only by lights ensconced on the wall. He was aware of two voices whispering hurriedly beyond what he could see of the room. And next to his bed, a figure sitting in a chair.

He flinched, because for a split second it looked like a corpse, hair matted around their head, lips dry and eyes bruised. But no, their chest rose and fell under the blanket arranged around their shoulders. Just asleep.

Edward made sure their breath was steady and then carefully shifted himself from the bed. He didn’t _feel_ injured, just that there was something he was missing. Like some calculation that somehow added up to more than it should be. Something that just felt intuitively like _I screwed up somewhere_ , but Edward hadn’t the faintest idea where.

It certainly didn’t help that he was completely clueless about where he was. It looked like a large hospital room, one that could comfortably hold thirty patients. Stone walls, and windows on his side of the room. There was no light but what shone through the window- the moon, bright and full, and the starlight competing with it. A fortress of some kind? He realized that he couldn’t remember where he was last, either. How did he become unconscious in the first place?

The one thing that Teacher taught Edward, it was that an unfamiliar situation puts you at a disadvantage. And if youre in an unfamiliar situation, get the fuck out and then find something familiar. Well, that was what Ed intended to do.

Ed crept to the nearest window. God, his left foot felt _weird_ on this stone. Almost like it was asleep, without the pins and needles. In fact, so did his right arm. But it was too dark to check for any injuries, and he was so foggy in the head to really be thinking straight, so Ed relied solely feeling as he edged towards the light of the window, and then opened it. His footsteps didn’t sound right either, but he didn’t have the headspace to worry about it.

Edward winced when the window frame slammed open. He didn’t mean to use that much pressure, but he must have miscalculated. The window was high up, maybe two or three stories, and the space outside looked like a courtyard, with stone buildings surrounding it. Beyond that were more stone walls… a bailey, perhaps? Was he in a castle? When he put his hand his hand on the window sill it made a weird clinking sound. He shifted his legs out of the window, bracing himself for the cold. It was in the silvery moonlight that he first caught the glint, a bit of reflection on his kneecap, where the gap in his plating revealed the hinges-

Where the _what?_

“Motherfucking _Hylia_ ,” Ed said in a voice that was a little too loud to be stealthy. He pulls his hospital gown- he would not admit it to being a dress- up his thigh to where flesh met metal, really where it met a map of scars on his leg. He tests his- _whatever_ , flexing his calf, rolling his ankle. It seemed he had flexible toes, but when his brain told him to move them they didn’t, so he reached with his right arm to touch them- and swore again.

 _This_ prosthetic reached all the way to his shoulder. What the hell had they done to him? He couldn’t remember anything that led up to being here, and certainly never remembered losing any appendages. Did they… did they _cut off_ his limbs? Was he some sort of experiment? Ed wanted to examine it as he had done to his leg, but he heard a soft stirring behind him, the living corpse was waking up. Shit. He was too loud. Ed decided that he could figure everything out _after_ he was sure he wasn’t being experimented on, so he gripped the edge of the window and turned so he was facing the wall, using the fine cracks in the masonry to edge his way down the side of the building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just 8000 words I need to get out of my system. I plan to eventually work on this more but I'm focusing on my other fic for now.
> 
> Also I'll be posting the second chapter tomorrow.
> 
> Kudos and comments are appreciated and they keep me writing! It doesn't have to be super thoughtful, I just love when people tell me what they're thinking :)
> 
> Also, I'm very sorry its not well edited and I change tenses a lot. oops


	2. Chapter 2

Zelda shivers and pulls her blanket tighter around her. It does little to shield against the cold air seeping through the window- the window to the _infirmary._ Blearily, Zelda tries to collect her thoughts together to remember what she was doing here. Right, the boy, the surgery, the triforce… on second thought, maybe she didn’t really want to remember.

For now, she settles for the irritation that some nitwit left the window open. They had a recovering patient, for Hylia’s sake, one that been half dead for a month, one that was… decidedly not in his cot.

Zelda goes to close the window and then examines the empty bed. The sheets are thrown back, and still dirty. Zelda will give whoever left soiled sheets the benefit of the doubt and assume they recently just moved him. She can hear voices, somewhere in the infirmary, too soft to make out the words. She tightens the blanket around her shoulders and moves the curtain partitioned around the patient’s bed.

It’s Doctor Fiji and Impa. Impa turns first, probably heard Zelda with her freakish Sheikah senses. “How’s our patient?” She asks.

Zelda’s brow screws into confusion. “I thought you moved him?”

Impa’s face clouds over.

Zelda immediately catches on to the sheikah’s assumption. “Impa, he can’t just be _gone_. Those narcotics should’ve put him out for another day.” But she tells this more to herself than anything, because Impa has already decided that their patient has escaped. Zelda’s mouth tightens. “The window was open.”

Impa says something under her breath, probably something not fit for a princess’s ears. Doctor Fiji is looking back and forth between them, realization dawning on her. They all hurry over to the empty bed, though for what reason Zelda can’t be sure, because he’s just _gone_ and it’s not like looking where he’s supposed to be is going to help.

Zelda says what they are all thinking. “The Hero of Hyrule, the one who is fated to destroy calamity Ganon, just ran away, didn’t he?”

Impa drags a hand over her face. “Goddamnit, Edward.”

Zelda snaps to attention, because the way Impa said it, it was like she was familiar with him. More than familiar, if the exasperated sigh is anything to go by. “Wait. You _know_ him?”

Impa clasps her hands behind her back, a grim set on her mouth. “I trained him and his brother. In alchemy, among other things.” Zelda didn’t doubt that _other things_ meant training in Sheikah warrior techniques, especially if Impa thought…

“And you knew he was the reincarnation of Link?” And, more worryingly, “does _he_ know that he holds part of the triforce?” If he knew, and purposely defected…

“I had my suspicions from when he first came to me, begging for me to teach him Sheikah alchemy.” Impa paused. “I wasn’t completely sure until last month, when the … when the symbol appeared. After that, he and his brother just disappeared. I thought maybe they had gone looking for the sword. I don’t have a clue how, but he somehow figured out that it was in the lost woods- and that’s where I found him, missing an arm and a leg, bleeding out in the grass at the entrance to the woods.”

“And he didn’t have the sword?”

“No.”

Which means Ganon isn’t going to rise up within the next moment, but that’s still hardly a consolation. “And we still don’t know how he lost his limbs in the first place… On top of that, he ran away, even though he _knew_ he was the Hero.”

Impa purses her lips at this. “I will find him, and bring him back.”

“Do you have any idea where he could have gone?”

“I will find him.”

Zelda examines her palm, averting Impa’s gaze. A whole month, and not a whisper of the power she was promised. Now finding Hylia’s gift was more than a continuation of a tradition among the women in the royal family- now it was a matter of the death of her nation or the triumph over a calamity that appeared every thousand years.

Zelda felt very, very sick.

“Impa, what am I supposed to do?” She whispered hoarsely. Doctor Fiji, sensing this was a private conversation, muttered something about cleaning and disappeared to the other side of the bedside curtains. Impa examined her, as stony and expressionless as ever.

“They will come, Zelda.”

This made Zelda furious. She was tired of hearing the same thing over and over again. If the powers just _came_ what was the use in all this praying and worshipping? “But what if they _don’t_ Impa? What then?”

“They will come.”

Zelda clenched her hands at her sides. “So that’s it? We just wait around and do nothing?”

Impa raises a brow. “I never said that.”

Zelda huffs. “Right. I guess I’ll just pray my days away until Ganon shows up. Hylia should’ve reincarnated into a nunnery if that’s all it takes.”

“I never said any of that either. Don’t immediately assume I agree with everything your father says.”

Zelda is taken aback. Very few people speak out against her father, and certainly not in front of her. Its only when Impa smirks at her that she realizes her jaw has dropped open, and she hasn’t responded.

“I know you’re researching the guardians because you find them curious, but also because you believe that it is possible to harness them, so they can fight against Ganon as they did hundreds of years ago.” Zelda hasn’t told anyone this, but it would be just like Impa to guess where Zelda’s true intentions lie. Impa places a hand on Zelda’s shoulder, and Zelda leans into the touch. She tries not to sigh too audibly. Impa’s hand is warm and firm and it makes everything in Zelda’s head fade to the background, if only for a moment.

“Let’s get you to bed, Princess,” Impa says in a warm tone she only saves for Zelda. “The next steps are always more intelligible in the morning.”

Zelda couldn’t agree more. She needed to catch up on three weeks worth of sleep in one night, as she would no doubt be returning to her duties come tomorrow. If it wasn’t already tomorrow. Zelda yawned, and let Impa lead her to her chambers. Indeed, the next steps could wait until morning, when her head isn’t swimming with goddesses and calamities and guardians and alchemical calculations and very pretty boys with their golden hair fanned out on the pillow.

As it turned out, the next step included Zelda being yelled out.

The king hadn’t forgotten their argument over the last month, and while Zelda shouldn’t have expected it, she figured that with Ganon on the horizon he would have at least changed his tune. No such luck.

“Zelda, it is now more than _ever_ you should be devoted to your prayers. Ganon is coming,” as if she didn’t already _know_ , “and you must be ready.”

Zelda _could_ fall back on her usual argument of _well my powers can’t be the only thing we rely on_ and _at least with my research I’m making progress_ , but she’s too tired for the usual back and forth so she just nods and says, “I will try my best, father.”

“You will not _try_ , Zelda. You will do.”

Zelda bites back the “and the lot of good _that_ does us” and retreats to go to her room to “pray”. If her father wants to be idealistic and difficult, that’s his problem. Zelda doesn’t know If she actually intended to devote prayers to the goddess, but its without thinking that she ends up at her work table, staring blankly at the scattered papers that was the last month of work. Slowly, she starts gathering things together, sorting sketches and calculations and notes, less to clean up and more to keep her hands busy while she’s thinking. Impa’s words echo through her mind, how _if the guardians could defeat Ganon once, they could do it again._ But they would need more than just the scouts and skywatchers. They needed the divine beasts.

So far Zelda has devoted most of her time to the guardians. Perhaps it was time she changed tactics. Shamefully, she had neglected researching the Shiekah slate as much as she should, mostly because her time was split so many ways, but also because half of its functions were a mystery to her. Perhaps it was time she fixed that. The shrines were undoubtedly part of the puzzle as well, and these two components were undoubtedly part of discovering how to manipulate the divine beasts.

Zelda chewed on her lip, and then fished out a quill and paper. She knew of a couple researchers that would be willing to help her, but she would have to visit the shrines and beasts herself. She couldn’t trust anyone else to do it. This of course meant convincing her father that it was a worthy investment to send the princess of Hyrule on a trip to look at ancient technology. She sighed. One step at a time. She could at least gather a team, and maybe _they_ could talk to her father. These days, it seemed like he would rather listen to anyone else than his own daughter.

She paused, quill poised over her greeting. Ah. It completely slipped her mind that the Hero of Hyrule was missing, and perhaps what she should be more worried about. She glared at her letters. Impa could deal with that. She could chase him halfway across of Hyrule and back again for all Zelda cared; she wouldn’t spend any energy worrying about what some spineless brat who had his destiny handed to him on a silver platter, and then chose to run away from it. It did leave one to wonder he gallivanted off to, though…

 _Dear Mister Elric,_ she wrote, _I have a proposition about the nature of ancient technology that might interest you…_

When Ed shows up half-dead on Al’s doorstep, his brother asks Ed for a rupee.

“A damn _what?_ ” Now, Ed likes to think that he complains very little. But, “you think you could show a little sympathy? I’m half starved.”

Al leaves the door open for Ed to scramble in by himself. Shithead little brother. “I have a savings jar. A rupee for every time you show up looking like an outdoor cat chased here by the neighbor’s dog. Tea?”

“Seriously? That’s it? I haven’t been here for months and this is what I get?”

Al whips around like he’s about to tackle Ed. “Oh, you want to have _that_ conversation? Yes, you _haven’t_ been here for _months_ at a time. No letters, no messages, no nothing! And then you show up, like you always do, without warning, demand food, a place to sleep, and what? _Sympathy_?” Okay, so Ed kinda deserves this, so he mostly tunes it out as he clears off one of Al’s workbenches without disturbing too much stuff. If Al won’t offer him a chair, he’s going have to deal with Ed sitting on the table. “And then you go running off again two days later, off on your next great quest until you wind up like the homeless tramp you are back on my doorstep!”

“Okay. You done yet?”

“ _Yeah_ ,” says Al, but he doesn’t sound happy about it.

Ed finishes pushing random junk off the worktable and uses his arm to jump up and sit on it. But he accidentally uses his right arm, and winces when it puts pressure on his shoulder.

Al frowns. “What’s up with your arm?”

“Ah,” says Ed. “That’s what I came here to talk to you about.” Ed holds out his arm and Al takes two strides to where Ed is and roles up his sleeve. Ed can’t meet Al’s eyes, but he sees the flinch and the sharp inhale.

“Ed, what the hell happened?”

“That’s the thing. I don’t know. I don’t even know what led up to losing my arm. The last thing can remember… I was staying at the woodland stable?” Al is gesturing for Ed to pull off his shirt so can take a closer look at the arm. Al treats Ed like garbage sometimes, but when it comes down to it he can be quite fussy.

“What were you doing so far north?”

“I don’t know,” says Ed sulkily. He had been mulling over this same thought the whole ride here. It was at the base of Eldin mountain, but there were no roads that led up the mountain there. There was good game, though. “Hunting, maybe?”

Al snorted. “It would be just like you to have your stomach take you to the middle of nowhere.”

“Still doesn’t explain where the arm came from. _Ow,_ a little care, would you?”

Al frowned but didn’t look up from where the metal met his shoulder. “You don’t know who made your automail?”

“Well… no.” Ed was on tiptoes around Al’s tone. “Last I remember I was waking up in the Hyrule castle infirmary. I didn’t really stick around.”

“And why _not?_ ” Al tweaked something in Ed’s shoulder and he hid a wince.

“Well, since I didn’t exactly remember what I did to get _into_ the castle… I figured it would be prudent if I wasn’t there to find out.”

Al snorted. “Oh, prudent? When did you learn that word?”

“Ha, ha, very funny- Ow! Okay, would you care to tell me what exactly you’re doing?”

“Adjusting your shoulder plate. It’s a bit tight. So you really don’t know who made the arm?”

Ed shook his head. “Nope. I figured you might recognize the work.”

“I don’t.” Al kept a very blank expression, which meant that he was annoyed. “It looks like a bit of a rush job. It doesn’t quite fit right.”

“So… is that bad?”

“No, not necessarily. In terms of the design, it’s really great work- puts most of my automail designs to shame.” Al said that mildly, but Ed wasn’t fooled- Al could be competitive when it came to his interests, even with something he just passingly dabbled in, like automail. And while his brother’s a genius, even he can’t be the best at everything. “There’s few who can make automail of this quality. And this doesn’t look like anything I’ve seen before.” Now that Al was done fiddling with his shoulder, he was running his fingertips along Ed’s arm. “This material… it’s not usual for automail. It looks like- it looks like.” Al pulled away. “It looks like alchemy.” But his tone was dissatisfied, as if alchemy wasn’t the word he was looking for.

Ed took a more scrutinizing eye over the arm. The metal didn’t have the usual alchemical texture to it, so the analysis and creation must have been excruciatingly detailed. Ed is a bit peeved that Al was the one recognized it was alchemy, because Ed should have seen it too. But then again, Ed isn’t the medical expert, Al is, and he supposed automail sort of falls under that category. “How do you know?”

“It’s only because I know what to look for. The metalwork is too perfect for it to be melded by hand. Only alchemy can do that. It’s really amazing. No seams or anything.” But he said it like _it’s disgusting someone is better than me at something_.

“Green isn’t a good look on you, Al.”

“I’m not _jealous_ ,” Al says irritably, all seventeen year old boy and further confirming Ed’s suspicions. Then he freezes.

“What?” Says Ed, following Al’s gaze to his hand… where the triforce is etched into the automail.

“Er,” Ed follows up. “Has that always been there?”

Al drops his hand and sighs, though he sounds more worried than irritated now. “I don’t know, brother, why don’t you tell _me_?”

Ed is embarrassed to say he doesn’t have the faintest idea. He covers this up by saying “fuck if _I_ know.”

“So what are you going to do?”

Ed blinks. “What do you mean?”

Al narrows his eyes and tilts his head, which is his these-words-won’t-be-easy-to-swallow-brother face. “I know you better than anyone, Ed, and I’m having a hard time believing you’re fully excepting the whole destined to be savior of Hyrule situation-“

“I’m sorry _what?_ ”

Al huffs, as if _Ed_ is the one being difficult. “What _else_ do you think that means, Ed?”

“I don’t know!” Ed bursts out. “But don’t you think leaping straight to ‘Hero of Hyrule’ is a bit of a stretch? For all we know it could be like, a manufacturing label! Maybe the mechanic took some artistic liberties! Maybe it’s a _joke!_ ”

Al stares at Ed with a mixture of frustration and amusement. “Are you listening to yourself? You know better. People don’t use the triforce symbol lightly, and it’s definitely bordering on sacrilegious to put it somewhere like your hand.”

“I don’t know,” Ed grumbles. “Maybe my mechanic is a heretic.”

Al snorts. “Right. Well I hope they find someone besides my brother to further their religious agendas on. And don’t tell me that you haven’t at least suspected all this time.”

Ed opens and closes his mouth, dumbfounded. Al looks just as shocked, but for a different reason.

“Are you _kidding_ me, Ed? Are you saying this is a complete surprise? For Hylia’s sake, you talk to _fairies._ ”

“They’re _koroks_ and I was a kid with a _very_ overactive imagination!” Ed splutters. “Besides, never actually claimed to _see_ them. That was your weird childhood fascination.”

Al gives Ed a long, very off-putting look. “I am very sure I have never seen a korok in my life, much less claimed to. Maybe I was messing with you.” He taps his chin, and apparently shifting back to the topic of ragging on Ed, continues with, “Okay. The flower crowns? How you always seem to wake up with grass in your hair despite sleeping inside?”

Ed lets it happen. “Yes, I’m a bit of a slob. What of it?”

Al leans back and looks at the ceiling as if searching for some answer for his vexing older brother. “He finally admits it, but only to deny he’s the reincarnation of an ancient hero. Typical.”

Ed sighs and runs his hands through his hair, which needs to be braided as soon as he gets his hands on a hair tie. “I just- I don’t know, Al. The whole ‘destiny’ thing is… I mean, why _me_? Why does some goddess get to decide how to meddle with my life?”

They’re both silent. When Al finally speaks, it’s a soft “why indeed,” almost too quiet for Ed to hear. Ed doesn’t respond, and Al stands out of his chair, putting his hands on his back and leaning into it. “Agh, I’ve been sitting all day, so I’ll heat something up for you- you were never one to make decisions on an empty stomach.”

Ed rolls his eyes. “Right. Do something for me to stretch your legs, and not because I’ve lost two limbs or anything.”

Al freezes. “ _Two?_ ”

“Ah, oops,” says Ed. He pulls up his pant leg. “Two.”

Al stands, with his hands on his hips, lips pulled taut into a thin line, looking very disappointed. Surprisingly, he says nothing about this new development and just sighs. “I have stew, and though it’s not near as good as your cooking, it’ll be warm, at least.”

Ed jumps up, glad he’s no longer getting the Brother Why Do You Test Me So looks. “Stew is good.”

“Awful spry for someone who’s lost two limbs,” Al needles. “At least you only look like shit, and don’t feel like it.”

“Hey!” Ed says, but its half-hearted. He is pretty gross, the road was muddy, and he’s pretty sure there’s dried blood still crusted behind his ear. “I’m gonna go wash up. Don’t want to track any _shit_ on the carpet.”

“Great, there’s a hose outside.”

“Ha ha.”

Ed supposes that the whole “Hero of Hyrule” thing isn’t so bad if he can still joke with his brother like this. Though he wonders, with a sense of dismay, how long it can truly stay like this. He realizes that the whole missing limbs thing doesn’t even bother Ed as much as it should. Ed can’t shake the feeling of _why_ that is, it just felt like deep down, it might have been a fair trade.

Whatever _that_ means. He sure isn’t going to tell Al, because his brother will just ask questions that Ed isn’t keen to answer. It feels too much like falling into the goddesses’ hands, submitting to the destiny she has planned, which makes Ed at least uncomfortable and at most spiteful. Ed decides that if he is going to be their chosen one, he’s going to make them regret it.

And Ed is _great_ at making people regret things.


End file.
